


Things With Wings

by enigmaticblue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-06
Updated: 2010-05-06
Packaged: 2017-10-09 08:23:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/85019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has wings; Castiel is fascinated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things With Wings

Sam couldn’t stop staring. “What do you think happened?”

 

“How the fuck should I know?” Dean demanded, craning his neck, attempting to get a look at the wings that had sprung from his back. As he turned, the right wing stretched out and knocked over the lamp on the bedside table.

 

Sam waved him to the bed, trying not to think about how Dean had woken with wings and in a panic, ending up on the floor in a flurry of feathers and limbs. If he didn’t think about it, Sam wouldn’t laugh, because laughing would just piss Dean off.

 

He could indulge in laughter later. “Sit, Dean.”

 

“I—fuck.” Slowly, cautiously, Dean perched—there really was no other word for it, Sam thought, once again stifling inappropriate giggles—on the edge of the motel bed. The wings, the color of a dove’s, mantled around him, fluttering uncertainly. The early morning sunlight streamed in through the single, dirty window, reflecting off the wings, and lighting Dean up from behind.

 

If Dean hadn’t been his brother—and a guy—Sam might have said he was beautiful. But attractive or not, a Dean-with-wings was just going to cause more trouble. Now that they’d stopped the apocalypse, Sam had been getting used to trouble of the usual sort.

 

Usual for them, anyway.

 

Sam blew out a breath and sat down on the other bed across from Dean. “Okay, you were fine last night.”

 

“Yeah, I know, Sammy. I was there.”

 

“And then you woke up with—wings.”

 

“Figured that one out, did you?”

 

Sam glared at him. “I’m trying to help.”

 

“Help better,” Dean shot back. “Because I’ve still got a pair of fucking wings on my back.”

 

Sam frowned, something triggering his memory. “Wait, what about that girl last night?”

 

Dean’s brow furrowed, and his wings sort of folded in. Sam wasn’t surprised that it took some effort on Dean’s part to remember _which_ girl—but he was amused when he realized that Dean’s poker face didn’t extend to the wings, which seemed to be responding to Dean’s emotions.

 

“The one at the bar?” Dean finally asked. “I just bought her a drink. We were _talking_.”

 

“That one,” Sam replied, amusement warring with exasperation. “She said you had the fact of an angel right before you ditched her.”

 

The wings rose, the feathers fluffing out, and Sam could feel Dean’s annoyance.  “I didn’t _ditch_ her. You got the information we needed!”

 

“We did, but if you hadn’t been flirting—”

 

“That’s what I do!” Now Dean’s wings rose, and Dean staggered to his feet, off-balance under the new weight. “I was just killing a little time.”

 

“She didn’t know that,” Sam replied. “And since they do kind of look like an angel’s wings—”

 

“Angels don’t have wings like this!”

 

Sam continued as though Dean hadn’t said anything. “—it’s a good bet she’s behind it. I’ll see what I can dig up on curses that involve wings.” He dug his cell phone out of his pocket. “You should probably stay here while I go find some answers.”

 

“Who are you calling?” Dean asked warily, making his way slowly to one of the straight-backed wooden chairs, letting his wings drape over the back.

 

Sam smirked. “Cas. I figured if anyone could help you deal with a set of wings, it would be a bona fide angel.”

 

“Angels don’t have wings!” Dean protested again, but Castiel’s voice already filtered through the line.

 

“Hello?”

 

“It’s Sam. We need your help.”

 

“Why?” Castiel sounded more suspicious than Sam would have expected for a newly-recharged angel. “I thought you said you no longer required my assistance.”

 

Sam winced at Castiel’s pissy tone. Apparently, they’d hurt his feelings when they’d told him that he didn’t have to stick around after the apocalypse.

 

That hadn’t been a request to fuck off; it had been an easy out. Dean hadn’t thought Cas would want to stick around, and Sam hadn’t argued with his assessment, even if he hadn’t agreed. In truth, Sam hadn’t expected Cas to go and stay gone.

 

“There’s new trouble,” Sam replied. “Please, Cas. It’s Dean.”

 

Sam was not above using emotional blackmail, and he _knew_ how Castiel felt about his brother. He also had a few suspicions as to what Dean’s feelings for Cas might be, but he knew better than to attempt a conversation on the subject.

 

He heard Castiel’s sigh on the other end, and then the angel growled, “Where are you?”

 

Sam had no sooner given Castiel their location, but the angel appeared in their motel room, his gaze going immediately to Dean.

 

“Hey, Cas,” Sam greeted him, striving for casual.

 

Castiel’s eyes remained fixed on Dean—or, more specifically, his wings. “Sam.”

 

“So, uh, you see our problem.”

 

“Indeed.”

 

“I’m sitting right here!” Dean burst out.

 

The hint of a smile crinkled the skin around Castiel’s eyes and mouth. “I can see you, Dean. You’re hard to miss.”

 

“You know, I think I liked you a lot better when you didn’t have a sense of humor.” The corner of Dean’s mouth tipped up, though.

 

Sam smothered a grin. “Okay, so, I’ll just leave the two of you alone, then.”

 

“Why did you require my assistance?” Castiel asked, meeting Sam’s eyes for the first time since he showed up, but he shifted toward Dean, as though he couldn’t quite bear to look away.

 

Sam shrugged. “I’m going to figure out what the hell happened, and how to get Dean back to normal. You’re here to help Dean deal with the wings. I figured if anyone could, it would be you.”

 

He grabbed his bag and slipped out the door, hearing Castiel’s confused, “But angels’ wings are metaphysical,” through the flimsy door.

 

With any luck, Sam would have an answer by the time he got back, and Cas would keep Dean busy.

 

~~~~~

 

Dean leaned forward in the wooden chair, trying to offset the weight on his back, dragging at his shoulders. If the wings hadn’t been such a fucking pain, Dean would have started pacing; he hadn’t seen Cas in three weeks, and he had the uncomfortable feeling that Cas was pissed off at him.

 

Castiel was still staring at him, wearing the same rumpled trench coat and loosened blue tie, just like the last time Dean had seen him. Cas still looked like he always had, and there was something reassuring about that. Even if Cas was standing in the same spot where he’d appeared out of thin air, his expression inscrutable; it didn’t look like he was going to be the first to break the silence.

 

“What’s your problem, Cas?” Dean finally demanded.

 

“I don’t think I’m the one with a problem,” Castiel replied carefully.

 

Dean couldn’t help it—the wings rose up on their own accord, the feathers bristling. “Bite me. If you can’t help, then go do whatever it is you’ve been doing.”

 

“I’ve been traveling, among other things.” Castiel’s voice was mild, and he took a step closer to Dean, his eyes still focused on the wings. “You said you didn’t need me.”

 

Dean snorted. “We don’t. That doesn’t mean we didn’t want you to visit.”

 

“You made it clear that I wasn’t wanted.”

 

“Wanted and needed are two different things,” Dean argued, although he shifted uncomfortably, the wings pulling in tight around him. “You should have called.”

 

“I believe that you would say it goes both ways.” Cas sat on the edge of the table, his hand a mere hairsbreadth away from the long feathers on Dean’s new wingtip. “May I?”

 

Dean belatedly realized that he was holding his breath, and he released it. “Yeah, I guess.”

 

No one had touched his wings yet.

 

Cas’ fingers tentatively stroked the feathers along the bone that now stretched from just behind his right scapula up and out in a long, graceful sweep. Dean shuddered, feeling every movement like electricity.

 

“They suit you.” Cas would have pulled off the casual tone if his voice hadn’t been even lower and more gravelly than usual. He swept a hand over the long bone that edged the wing, and straightened a feather that had been disordered earlier.

 

Dean cleared his throat. “They’re fucking wings, Cas. Humans aren’t meant to fly.”

 

“Have you tried?” Cas couldn’t seem to stop touching the wings, running his fingers through the feathers, his gaze intense, watching his fingers comb through long pinions and the soft down underneath.

 

“’Course not,” Dean replied, not liking how hoarse he sounded. “Where would I go?”

 

Cas tore his eyes from Dean’s wings, and Dean swallowed at the sight of Cas’ dark blue eyes, pupils blown wide. “I can take you somewhere.”

 

Dean didn’t know what Cas meant, what they’d do if he went, but he suddenly wanted to find out. “Yeah. Where?”

 

“Trust me.”

 

And Dean did, that was the thing. He trusted Cas with his life, almost as much as he trusted Sam or Bobby. All he could do was nod, the words sticking in his throat, and Cas brought his free hand up to Dean’s forehead in a gesture that was becoming all too familiar.

 

One touch, and between one blink of an eye and the next, Dean found himself stumbling into a sun-bright meadow, yellow-green grass prickling his ankles, and Dean was suddenly grateful that he’d taken the time to pull on jeans and a pair of boots before Cas had shown up. He hadn’t even thought about the fact that he was half-naked.

 

Well, maybe not half. The wings had to count for something.

 

Unable to quite catch his balance with the unfamiliar weight on his back, Dean landed hard on one knee, biting out a curse at the sharp pain.

 

“Are you all right?” Cas knelt in front of him, hands outstretched to grab his arms, and Dean wasn’t surprised when one of Cas’ hands slid up, past his shoulder, raking through the feathers yet again.

 

“Fine,” Dean managed to gasp out. “I’m fine.”

 

Castiel shifted closer, and Dean felt his jeans grow uncomfortably tight. “Stand up.”

 

With Cas’ help, Dean stood, and here—where he didn’t have to worry about knocking over lamps, or banging into furniture, his wings stretched out fully for the first time.

 

It felt incredible.

 

Dean felt the sun on every inch of bare skin, felt the way the breeze ruffled his feathers, and he flexed his wings experimentally—once, twice, twisting his head to look at them. He looked back at Cas, grinning broadly, but it faded when he realized that Cas looked far too serious.

 

No, not serious. Turned on. Fuck.

 

“Cas—” Dean had told himself that he wasn’t going to do this, he wasn’t going to go there. After the apocalypse, Castiel had a chance to be what he once was, to go back to heaven with God’s blessing. Dean wasn’t going to fuck it up for him.

 

Except that Cas was here, now, _touching_ him, and when Dean hazarded a glance downwards, he could see that Cas was just as turned on as he was.

 

“Wings really do it for you, huh?” Dean asked finally, trying to defuse the situation with humor.

 

Cas just cocked his head in that way he did when he was looking into Dean’s soul, or some such shit, and his eyes narrowed. “You are an idiot,” he enunciated clearly.

 

Dean glared at him. “You’ve been spending too much time with Bobby.”

 

“I would rather have spent time with you,” Cas responded. “But he could teach me what I wanted to learn.”

 

“Cas—”

 

“Shut up.” Cas didn’t give Dean a chance to do as ordered. He pushed in close, his lips finding Dean’s in an amateurish kiss that somehow managed to be incredibly hot.

 

Cas broke the kiss and left Dean aching for more. “I want to see you fly,” he said, stepping back, his hands falling to his sides.

 

“I don’t know if—”

 

“I want to see you try.”

 

Castiel’s tone left no room for argument, but Dean thought about arguing anyway. Then his wings stretched out again, and he could suddenly find no reason to not try. Who knew how long these things would last?

 

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Dean flexed again, concentrating on muscles he hadn’t had the previous night. He felt the wings begin to beat the air, sending up great gusts of wind that sent Cas’ tie fluttering against his chest.

 

For the first time, Dean felt as though they were a part of him, and as he began to rise from the ground, a great, bubbling joy rolled through him.

 

He didn’t go very far—one trip, two around the clearing—but his muscles burned with the unaccustomed strain. Dean landed hard, nearly falling on his face, but Cas caught him, holding him tightly.

 

Dean laughed, still filled with the freedom of flight, and he met Cas’ eyes. “Did you see?”

 

“Yes.” Castiel leaned in, lips on Dean’s again, hot and messy.

 

Dean ran a hand through Cas’ hair, gripping at the back of his skull, trying to slow things down some. He wanted to enjoy this; Dean wanted to take his time. “Lay down, Cas. Please.”

 

Castiel released Dean, pulling off his trench coat to lay it on the ground, dropping his suit jacket next to it. The tie was next, and Dean shifted to try and accommodate his growing erection. When Cas laid back on the coat, Dean couldn’t wait any longer, covering Cas’ body with his own.

 

Dean felt his wings stretch out on either side, and Cas’ eyes grew wide. “Dean.”

 

“That’s me.” Dean nipped Cas’ neck, hands ghosting down the front of Cas’ shirt, leaving opened buttons in their wake. Dean pressed open-mouthed kisses to the skin of Cas’ neck and chest, tongue swirling around Cas’ left nipple, grinning fiercely when Cas began to writhe under him.

 

“Shouldn’t have told you to go,” Dean muttered against the Cas’ stomach, pale and clean, the skin cool.

 

“No, you shouldn’t have.” But the words came out in between gasps, and Dean set out to make Castiel forget and forgive—forget that Dean had chased him off. Forgive Dean for running.

 

Dean unbuckled Cas’ belt, popped the button on his slacks, shoved the fabric down over narrow hips. He swallowed Cas down, licking and sucking, caressing Cas’ balls, smiling around his mouthful as Cas began to plead. Dean took Cas’ hips in a firmer grip and moved his head up and down.

 

Cas’ fingers were buried in his feathers, and Dean felt him tug—pleasure mixed with pain as Cas’ hips jerked in a helpless rhythm while he came.

 

Dean sat up, pulled free, wings spreading out above him as he undid his jeans, reached into his boxers, and took himself in hand. He was ready, and it only took half a dozen quick tugs before he came over his hand and Cas’ chest, collapsing next to Cas a moment later, one wing spreading out to cover them.

 

“That was…” Cas didn’t complete the sentence, instead rolling his head lazily to look at Dean with a warm regard. “Thank you.”

 

Dean huffed out a laugh. “Probably should have done that a long time ago.”

 

“Probably,” Cas agreed amicably.

 

They lay like that for a while, the sun warming sore muscles as crickets chirped and a cool breeze flowed over them. Dean smiled against Cas’ bare shoulder as a hand smoothed out ruffled feathers.

 

The ringing of a cell phone interrupted the peace, and Dean pushed himself up to allow Cas to search the pockets of his trench coat.

 

“Yes?” Castiel sounded so serious as he answered, and Dean grinned.

 

Cas shot him a look, and said, “Yes, we’re fine, Sam. Dean needed to stretch his wings.” There was a pause. “I thought it was funny.”

 

Dean smirked and tugged the trench coat away from Cas again, stretching out on his stomach, listening idly to Castiel’s side of the conversation. “That’s good. I’ll let Dean know.” When Castiel hung up, he reached underneath Dean to tuck the phone back in a pocket and said, “The spell should wear off in 24 hours. The girl who cast the spell just wanted to teach you a lesson.”

 

Dean pillowed his head on his arms. “Some lesson.”

 

“It wasn’t all bad.”

 

“Definitely not all bad,” Dean agreed with a fervent note in his voice. “Maybe next time, you should come to the bar with us. I won’t have to kill time flirting with a pretty girl that way.”

 

“Maybe I will.” Castiel’s hand was stroking his feathers again.

 

Dean smiled. “We should get the spell from that chick. We might need it again.”

 

Castiel’s fingers traced a line down Dean’s spine. “You don’t need wings.”

 

His smile turned into a smirk. “No, but they’re pretty damn fun.”


End file.
